Late last week, I received word that Espinosa, too, had been arrested — but then released. On the morning of January 10, in the city of Ciego de Ávila, he was seized and beaten up by one of Castro’s police. He was detained for two hours, admonished not to inform his family. He was further warned to cease his independent activities, lest worse befall him. This information is available at PayoLibre.com, which is Spanish only. English translations of the website’s notices can be found on various other sites. Luis Esteban Espinosa is only 20 years old, and he is attached to a press agency called Jóvenes sin Censura (Youth Without Censorship). He is also affiliated with the Cuban Foundation for Human Rights. The bravery of such people — Herrera Acosta, Espinosa — is beyond my power to describe or praise. It is almost beyond my power to comprehend. About the world’s general indifference to these Cubans, I can only sputter. One day, we may have the chance to meet Juan Carlos, Luis, and the others, and simply thank them. We also received word last week that a very brave Cuban dissident and political prisoner had died. He was Miguel Valdés Tamayo, one of the “Group of 75” — the men and women arrested in Castro’s awful crackdown of March 2003. Like all the others, he was treated miserably, and his body eventually gave out. He was 50. And the following statement came out of Cuba: The Assembly to Promote Civil Society in Cuba holds the Cuban government responsible for the death of Miguel Valdés Tamayo and asks for solidarity from the internal opposition movement, the exile community, organizations that are defenders of human rights throughout the world, Christians, democratic countries, and everyone who recognizes that this is a political crime. If you care to see a picture of “Miguelito,” as Valdés Tamayo was called, go here. ‐Have you received the new issue of National Review? I certainly hope so. Let me brag about it, just a little. The cover stories concern Iraq: Bing West on What to Do Now (essentially); David Pryce-Jones on Saddam’s execution and its meaning. We also have Theodore Dalrymple on the death penalty in general, and Mark Steyn on Iran. Yes, Iran: that monumental headache and nightmare. Other writers include Claudia Rosett, Rick Brookhiser, Rob Long — as always, there are many. My own, humble contribution is a piece called “Bassackwards.” What am I talking about? This is a piece on American culture and American identity, and threats to both of them. You may remember that, some columns ago, I discussed the phenomenon of Construction Spanish — this is Spanish taught to contractors, supervisors, and other bosses in the construction biz, so that they can communicate with their immigrant workers. I heard from many readers on Con. Span. (as I call it). Thanks so much. In addition to this Spanish, you can take Restaurant Spanish, Physical Therapy Spanish, Garbage Worker Spanish — any number of Spanishes. They are all grouped under the heading Survival Spanish. You may ask why immigrants don’t take it upon themselves to pick up a little Survival English. You are very old-fashioned. For generations and generations, the American compact was clear: You came from where you came from, speaking your native language, of course. You assimilated to American culture, as best you could. Your children would almost certainly speak your native tongue, and your grandchildren . . . who knew? But Americanization was essential, and the English language was part of it. You would never have expected — or even wanted — your boss to learn Construction Polish, or Construction Chinese, or Construction Italian. It was up to you to acquire enough English to communicate with him. Besides which, it was infinitely better for you, to know English. Employers taking Construction Spanish? That is bassackwards, as I say. The American compact seems to have been broken, to the sorrow of us all. Of course, when you talk this way, there are always people who accuse you of nativism, ethnocentrism, jingoism, and other nasty isms. They will also call you a foe of languages. They dependably will. People who can’t find their way to any toilet in Europe — who have to cross their legs and point — will tell you that you have a problem with other languages. That is somewhat hard to take, but we have no choice. Preparing to write, I did some nosing around in two books: Arthur Schlesinger Jr.’s The Disuniting of America (1991) and Samuel P. Huntington’s Who Are We? (2004). I suspect that you are intimate with the Huntington book. So I would like to dwell on the Schlesinger book, which, I believe, is the best thing that historian ever did for American society. (A conservative would say that, wouldn’t he?) Have a taste: In the nineteenth century, newly arrived immigrants stayed for a season with their old languages, used it in their homes, churches, newspapers, and not seldom in bilingual public schools, until acculturation reduced and the First World War discouraged the use of languages other than English. In recent years the combination of the ethnicity cult with a flood of immigration from Spanish-speaking countries has given bilingualism new impetus. The presumed purpose is transitional . . . But that is only the presumed purpose. Schlesinger’s phrase “the ethnicity cult” is extremely important, and the combination he speaks of is ruinous: that cult plus “a flood of immigration from Spanish-speaking countries.” Here is another key passage: Polls repeatedly show that Latino parents want their children taught in English. Many protest the retention of children with Hispanic names in Spanish-language classes. Like Afrocentricity and the ethnicity cult, bilingualism is not a popular but an elitist concern — “romantic ethnicity,” Myrdal called it; political ethnicity too. Truer words, Schlesinger never wrote. He continues, Institutionalized bilingualism shuts doors. It nourishes self-ghettoization, and ghettoization nourishes racial antagonism. In sum, I recommend the Schlesinger book, along with the Huntington book, and I also recommend the current NR. I dare say you won’t be sorry, in any of those cases! Oh, and, by the way, I received a charming note a few days ago from a reader overseas: Dear Mr. Nordlinger: The front pages here in England tell us that David Beckham is moving from Madrid to Los Angeles. My very first thought was, “Well, now he’s really going to have to learn Spanish!” ‐About four years ago, I gave up on correcting the world’s use of “neocon” — a word that means whatever its user wants it to mean, and that has become one of the great nonsense words of our time. But I still get annoyed every now and then. Consider this AP report, which I was reading the other day. It begins, “One by one, the hardline conservatives like Donald H. Rumsfeld and John Bolton who stood shoulder to shoulder with Vice President Dick Cheney in pushing President Bush’s decision to invade Iraq have left the administration.” Okay, what are “hardline conservatives”? People who thought Saddam Hussein needed to be ousted, and who think that today’s bombers and beheaders need to be faced down? What’s a non-hardline conservative? A Republican who plays bridge with General Scowcroft? In any case, the article later quotes a professor at New York University, Paul C. Light. He is a “professor of public service.” And what light does Mr. Light have to shed? “The neocons are gone. Cheney is the last one, and you can’t get rid of him.” Dick Cheney a neocon? Gerald Ford’s chief of staff, from Wyoming? Donald Rumsfeld, a neocon? Another Gerald Ford chief of staff, from Illinois — elected to Congress as a Republican in 1962? A neocon? It is simply amazing what it takes, and does not take, to be a professor at New York University. I shudder to think what tuition is there. ‐I think I know the mind of that Duke-lacrosse prosecutor, and the minds of others who jumped on those three students. Tom Wolfe knew their minds, too. You remember his splendid novel The Bonfire of the Vanities? The prosecutors are always in search of the Great White Defendant. They are sick of “picking on” poor blacks. They long for the Great White Defendant, to show their liberal-mindedness, and that justice is equal. Well, the Duke case must have seemed like Christmas morning to that prosecutor: a black, disadvantaged victim; white privileged victimizers — perfect. A chance, at last, to be Atticus Finch. And in the South! Everyone wants to be Atticus Finch. It is a drag, and bothersome to the conscience, to spend a career prosecuting blacks (who are probably acting from circumstances out of their control). No, it wasn’t true — apparently, the lacrosse players did not commit the crime. But, darn it, it deserved to be true, it ought to have been true. Because it fit the great, desired narrative — life the way it should be. At least, that’s the way I interpret this affair. ‐I have kept you long enough. Let’s end on a little music. Have a few reviews from the New York Sun: For a review of the New York Philharmonic, conducted by Zubin Mehta, with Alisa Weilerstein, cello; and for a review of Bach’s St. Matthew Passion, conducted by Helmuth Rilling — please go here. And for a review of Verdi’s Traviata at the Metropolitan Opera, please go here. And I’ll check you soon.